


knock some sense into yourself

by pensrcool



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, First Kiss, M/M, vaguely fake ah crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensrcool/pseuds/pensrcool
Summary: Ryan can deal with Ray 99% of the time. The other 1% of the time, he breaks into Ryan's apartment. Wearing a suit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> saw [ this ](https://therearenofriendshipsinuno.tumblr.com/post/155709727969/why-is-it-always-the-others-reacting-to-ryan) post on tumblr and thought about the raywood part all day, so i wrote it.

It’s not like Ray has never unexpectedly broke into Ryan’s apartment before-because he absolutely has-it’s that he just did it in a suit. It’s that Ryan walked in the front door and processed the suit as a stranger before he processed the back of Ray’s head as, well, Ray, and had been entirely ready to kill someone in his own home. And realizing it was Ray who was sitting on his couch playing Call of Duty really hadn’t done anything to freak him out less, because why the fuck was he in a _suit_? Was he dying? Was _Ryan_ dying? Had Ray already died and come straight to Ryan’s place after digging himself out of his grave? Warily, Ryan started making his way to his room. While staring. Which waswarranted, okay, because a basic tenet of both Ray’s appearance and personality was that he shopped exclusively at Hot Topic and Walmart, not that he wore or even _owned_ a suit. Over and beyond that, Ray… Ray cleaned up fairly well for a scruffy overgrown teenager. It was fucking with Ryan’s head a little. 

The door he ran into while he was staring at Ray? That fucked with his head a little more. 

The headache Ryan has is Ray’s fault. He’s only slightly bitter when he places the blame, so he feels like he’s still in the non-spiteful right to put this on shoulders that aren’t his own. Plus, he maintains he wouldn’t be bitter at all if not for the perfect annoying combination of his head throbbing while Ray snarks at him. It shakes out to Ray’s fault. No question about it. He adjusts the pack of frozen pizza rolls on the swelling on side of his head, scowling. What kind of person doesn’t have a nice and regular bag of frozen peas in their freezer? Or ziploc bags to stick ice in? Or, hell, a bonafide ice pack? Animals, that’s who. Animals, and apparently himself. God, he needs to go grocery shopping. Ray nudges him.

“Seriously, man, you alright? I can stitch the hell out of wounds, but my head injury policy is chug-Red-Bull-to-stay-up-as-long-as-possible-then-hope-I-don’t-die-in-my-sleep. So if you think this is a concussion, you should probably call someone because, uh, my head injury policy kind of sucks.”

Ryan gives him a thumbs up to indicate he needs neither Red Bull nor medical attention before he sighs and takes a bag of fucking pizza rolls off his head. 

“Nice suit.”

“Dude, totally. I definitely look like a distinguished gentleman and not a fourteen year old kid who’s about to get stood up at homecoming.”

Ray flexes his arm with an over exaggerated grunt, and Ryan grins despite himself. Ray grins back.

“I bet that’s what made you run into a door. My manly suit wiles are just too powerful. If I wore it all the time, I’d fucking kill people.”

What Ryan _means_ to do is make a follow up joke about how good or bad it looks, or even just ask why it’s being worn (that’s still unanswered and he’s still curious), but Ray’s a little too close to right for him to do anything besides stutter out a no.

It’d be funny, how wide Ray’s eyes got, if Ryan wasn’t so acutely aware of the blush creeping across his face and down his neck. 

“Holy shit. You seriously ran into the door because you were checking me out.”

He… he doesn’t have a comeback for that. 

“Holy shit,” Ray says again, “ _Holy shit_.”

Ryan’s killed people. Like, a lot of people. He’s scary. Scary people don’t sit on their kitchen counters blushing because they got called out on how fucking embarrassing they are, and yet.

Ray grabs his hand.

“Okay, for one, I’m telling everyone The Vagabond, The Bogeyman of Los Santos, can’t fucking flirt for shit. Secondly… There’s not really a secondly. I’m just gonna lord the shit out of the fact that I have proof that you’re not only a goddamn dweeb, but that I’m your favorite.”

He hasn’t let go of Ryan’s hand. Ryan stares. Ray frowns up at him.

“Look, I know you’re taller than me, but this is ridiculous. I’m okay with losing the last shreds of my dignity, but not to standing on tiptoe to kiss you. Stand on the floor like the rest of us fucking losers.”

So Ryan, dazed, hops off the counter. He’s still holding Ray’s hand when Ray kisses him.

Ryan forgets to ask what the suit’s for.


End file.
